


on skin, on flesh, on and on

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, a lot of characters' cameo and involvement but i'm not tagging all of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: Kouji(19:30):I’ll try to come back as soon as possible.Chrono(19:32):Just go and have fun, Kouji.A subtle warmth. A life-changing event. Sometimes they are similar and ever-present.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally planned to be posted on Ibuki's bday a while back but a lot of things came up and i couldnt post this in time. so. i wrote this hoping to emphasise each kind of love and affection ibuki has and deserves in his life. happy belated birthday.

On Christmas, the Dragon Empire branch gives out a warm canned drink and a roll of calendar for each visitor of the day.

Ibuki gets there first, hands stuffed into his pockets, and trudges towards the table where Mamoru and his group of middle-school volunteers gather around. He checks on the current time as he walks, trying to estimate when Chrono will arrive from his latest chat message.

“Alone?” Mamoru asks as soon as he reaches the table, in the tune of someone who knows the actual answer and is merely saying it for the sake of fun. “Merry Christmas, Ibuki.”

Ibuki ducks around the volunteers, surprised that they are even smaller than Chrono had been at the same age. “Merry Christmas, Anjou.” he says, sidling to his friend’s right and peeking into the cardboard. “Are they all chocolate?”

“Everyone can drink hot chocolate.” Mamoru waves a finger, proudly. “Want one? Your hands look like they’re on the verge of frostbite.”

They are, thanks to forgetting his gloves, so Ibuki nods and immediately presses his fingers on the warmed can.

“You just missed Kazumi-kun. And Kazuma-kun, naturally.” Mamoru hums, smiling sweetly at the new group sliding in and asking for the giveaway items. “I think they went inside for a fight a few minutes ago.”

Ibuki faintly recalls Chrono saying that Kazuma wouldn’t be coming with him earlier in the morning— _a prior engagement, he said. I bet it’s his older brother again_. Well, Chrono is right, as it turns out.

“I see.” Ibuki says, for lack of anything to respond with. “I hope they’ll still be here later.”

Mamoru turns to him with a teasing grin—by now it’s become an expression so familiar that Ibuki has learnt to accept and play along. “Waiting for Chrono-kun?” the older man says, as if he were expecting any other answer than _of course_.

“He’s on the way.” Ibuki decides to say.

Mamoru nods, turning slightly closer towards Ibuki, all the while still greeting the visitors cheerfully. It’s an intimate and protective gesture—one that he seems to have adopted naturally from having a younger sibling. It seems to engage, but also to give space. “Are you going off anywhere with him after this?”

 Trying not to show how flustered he feels, Ibuki says, “A dinner later, yes.”

It’s almost a tradition now, for Ibuki to come over during winter holiday and spend the days leading from Christmas to New Year with the Shindou. _A family tradition_. Ibuki feels a smile perk up on his face.

Mamoru catches sight of that smile and his eyes turn fond, eyebrows less tense. He then proceeds to stretch as the crowd thins during the interval. “Well, if you have time before that, I’d like to have one fight.”

Ibuki recognises a challenge when he sees one. “Our last one of the year?” he asks, a bit of a playful edge to it.

“ _Well_ , if you have more time, maybe last two of the year.” Mamoru winks.

Laughing lightly, Ibuki accepts Mamoru’s handshake in an imitation of a business deal. However, Mamoru soon apologises when he has to let go in a hurry, turning around to regard the next visitor in the line. Ibuki nods, fully understanding.

As he can’t keep hanging around and possibly impede his friend’s duty, Ibuki makes to excuse himself to wait for Chrono someplace else.

“Oh, before I forget.” Mamoru tosses one of the calendar rolls at him, and gives an enthusiastic wave. “I’ll see you later, Ibuki-kun!”

Ibuki tries to reply in kind, shoving the calendar under his arm so he can still warm his fingers on the unopened can of hot chocolate.

 

 

 

Chrono arrives barely ten minutes later, the Trinity Dragon trio in tow.

Ibuki doesn’t even need to hear Chrono’s excuse for being late (he is not, really, but Ibuki feels the sentiment), because of course he was ambushed by the three of them while on the road, as they always tend to do.

“Now, now, don’t be so antagonistic.” Tsuneto clicks his tongue, absolutely smug. Chrono rolls his eyes, but even he looks amused, if the crinkles on the sides of his eyes are any indication. “Just wanna make sure you won’t escape before letting me beat you on our last game of this year, Shindou.”

“You _mean_ getting beaten by me, right?” Chrono raises an eyebrow.

“I said what I meant!”

As Ibuki watches their banter, entertained, Chrono slowly turns to him and says, “You heard the man.”

Allowing himself a tiny smile, Ibuki confirms. “I had also been approached with a challenge from competitor Anjou. Do win your own.”

Chrono’s laugh is clear, delighted, and makes Ibuki’s heart aflutter anew. “Roger, partner. Let us both emerge victorious from each our fight.” He then eyes Ibuki’s pink fingers, which are rubbing at the now cold can. “Okay, let’s just go inside already.”

As soon as they are quickly ushered into the building by Chrono, both Ibuki and the Trinity Dragon give an audible sigh of relief at the presence of central heating.

“I can’t believe you.” Chrono huffs, stalking to stand in front of Ibuki, lifting his frozen fingers. “Where are your gloves?”

“No, I just…forgot.” Ibuki replies, sheepish. It’s the truth. He’s been so frantic, trying to catch the connecting train, that he’s forgotten having taken off his woolen gloves in the station to scour the contents of his wallet while topping up his subway pass.

Chrono gazes at him, baffled, and then chuckles, “Oh, well.” He rummages into the pocket of his coat, mumbling, “This may be too early, but.”

On his hand is a pair of red leather gloves, bound with a number of colourful ribbons. It’s not a pair especially made for warmth, and resembles that of bike’s gloves or a cardfighting pair more, but in that moment, perched on Chrono’s hand, the item is nothing if not ideal.

Ibuki blinks down at the object, surprised. Even with only a single look, it’s obvious that the gloves are a present of sort. The date being as it is, Ibuki has no doubt what Chrono means with the present.

Looking back at the younger man, now only a couple of centimetres shorter than Ibuki is (growth spurt is an impressive thing, and Chrono has been rather overjoyed at first that he’s now managed to peck at Ibuki’s neck without having to tip-toe), Ibuki whispers, “I’m not going to lose these.”

Chrono smiles, and it warms him up more than the central heating could ever have. “I know you won’t.”

Ibuki feels the gloves in his hands, tracing the linings in awe. It slips smoothly over his fingers, and he shows them off at Chrono, who in turn laughs, pressing his own hand on top of Ibuki’s.

 

 

 

Tsuneto doesn’t wait around to drag Chrono to one of the empty tables, accompanied with a promise of _ass-kicking_ and the cheers and chanting from his two teammates.

Ibuki would’ve gone along to watch their fight has he not caught sight of Onimaru Kazumi, who is seated with head slouched on his shoulder and arms and legs crossed. He almost seems like he’s about to curl up any second.

The moment Ibuki thinks this, Onimaru jolts with so much force that his limbs jerk and untangle, making his position less stable on the chair and actually very, _very_ , worrying.

Ibuki speed-walks towards him, arms stretched out readily—which turns out to be a good decision, because Onimaru slides down immediately, eyes hazy but shocked, and body unprepared for the impact. Ibuki grabs at him and nearly falls down himself—but they both don’t survive the corner of the chair, which is digging into Ibuki’s thigh and Onimaru’s hip.

Onimaru blinks up at him, and Ibuki can see his mind trying to catch up with the situation from the furrow of his eyebrows. And then, as if electrified, he pulls away from Ibuki, barely getting to land properly on the next chair over.

Ibuki settles on the previous chair, spine stiff, unsure when to start asking Onimaru if he’s in any way okay.

“Uh, sorry.” Onimaru says, the sound rehearsed but coming to him naturally. “That happens often, so, uh, please don’t mind it.”

It’s something that really should be minded, Ibuki thinks resolutely. He remembers Chrono’s hand on his shoulder, soothing, and his other hand brushing Ibuki’s hair behind his earlobes, dabbing at the sweats, all the while whispering words of comfort around him.

“Are you okay?” Ibuki decides to ask instead, to which Onimaru gives a smile and a grimace in half-and-half ratio.

“I just dozed off a bit.” Onimaru says, looking to the side. “Maa-kun—he was, he went to get drinks.”

Ibuki nods, understanding. He will wait until Onimaru’s younger brother gets back, then.

Onimaru fiddles with the fingers on his lap, a light blush on the side of his eye.

“Speaking of, Onimaru,” Ibuki says, doesn’t let it show that he’s just as surprised when Onimaru starts at his voice. “Chrono told me you’ve changed to a new phone number.”

Onimaru turns to him, mouth agape in recognisation. “That’s right.” he fumbles to take out a smartphone from his pocket, swiveling so that he half-faces Ibuki. “Do you want it?”

“Yes, please.” Ibuki pulls out his own phone, and they slide closer to exchange numbers, knees warily and almost touching.

Onimaru nuzzles his nose into his thick scarf as he presses his phone closer to Ibuki’s, transferring the data. Onimaru always looks so much younger like this, and the subtle comfort he allows Ibuki to see certainly feels too private.

Ibuki rubs his thumb over his index finger. “Did you hear about VI?”

“Vanguard International?” Onimaru frowns, baffled. “Yes…. Is there anything I should know about it?”

Shaking his head, Ibuki says, “Not at all. Merely wondering if you are interested in it.”

“Of course I am.” Onimaru looks fairly offended that Ibuki would think otherwise, but quickly schools his expression into a sheepish one. “We didn’t win the lottery to watch on-site, though. Maa-kun and I will probably just watch it on TV.”

Ibuki nods. “Yes, the lottery was very unforgiving.” He recalls Miwa’s anguish a few nights before, beer in hand, as he watched his friend’s lottery ticket numbers being nulled all at once. “As I know it, the TV crew is one of the best in the field. Hopefully it’ll be of similar experience either way.”

Onimaru’s gaze flickers at him in an emotion Ibuki can’t quite place. “Aren’t you one of the staff, Ibuki-san?”

“One of the volunteers.” Ibuki corrects. “Only as liaison.” Which is a good role, if any, because it allows him time and space to greet Kai and his many foreign friends in the field prior to and on the day of the games.

“It doesn’t give you some leeway with obtaining tickets?” Onimaru grins, and it’s as if they’re returning to a conversational rhythm that they’re both familiar with.

Ibuki sighs with a smile, “Unfortunately. It’s already a privilege enough to be able to attend on-site.”

Onimaru nods, face down with a sad understanding of reality. “A shame.”

It’s at this moment that Onimaru’s younger brother Kazuma chooses to appear, several cans of the same hot chocolate and a few of green tea in his arms. His expression is harried, but at the sight of Ibuki, the worry turns into curiosity.

“Ibuki-san.” he says as a greeting, and then turns to his older brother, handing him one can of each flavor. “Mamoru-san made me take some extra hot chocolate. Which one do you want?” he asks, to which Onimaru takes both, anyway. It helps that they’re all warm to the touch.

“Do you want one as well, Ibuki-san?” Kazuma says, probably as a means of formality, more than anything, because he can clearly see Ibuki’s own unopened can jutting out from one of his coat pockets. When Ibuki turns down his offer, without weight to it, he nods curtly.

“Merry Christmas, Ibuki-san.” Kazuma says after a little quiet. “Visiting Mamoru-san?”

Ibuki hums. “One of it.” He motions to a table where Chrono and Tsuneto are engaged in a rather loud fight with his chin. “That’s also another reason.”

Kazuma turns on one heel to look across his shoulder, and makes a face. “Uhhhh, he didn’t say he was going to be here.”

Ibuki wants to point out that Kazuma hadn’t exactly handed out any information on his activity of the day to Chrono either, but he merely raises an eyebrow in response to that instead.

“Did something happen?” Onimaru asks.

“Nothing.” Kazuma huffs. “Just didn’t expect to see him is all.”

Onimaru gives a brief smile at that, and raises a hand to soothe at one of Kazuma’s arms. “Are you going to talk to him?”

Kazuma scratches at his cheek. “Might as well. It’s Christmas.” And then, like a lightbulb has just lit up above his head, he adds, tone indulgent, “Do you wanna fight him?”

Onimaru looks like Kazuma has just elbowed him in the ribs. However, by the way he worries at his lower lip, he does sound intrigued. “He looks busy.”

“Let’s try asking him first?” Kazuma’s hands trails down to rest on his older brother’s wrist. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Onimaru glances at Ibuki as if he has the answer. Startled by the sudden focus on him, Ibuki gives a half-hearted grin and stumbles around his words, “I’m sure he’d like it if you asked him.”

The edge of Kazuma’s eye ticks in amusement. He looks back down to Onimaru, and then, gently, pulls his older brother up. “Ibuki-san said it, so let’s go to Chrono and prove it.”

“All right.” Onimaru pretends to sound exasperated, but he grips harder at Kazuma’s hand.

They excuse themselves from Ibuki, add a whispered _merry Christmas_ to their _hope to see you again_ , and stalk towards Chrono’s table, their voices low and shy. Ibuki watches them for a moment until he can hear his name being called, and he catches Mamoru’s eyes from one of the halls, the older man lifting his deck above his head akin to a signal.

Ibuki lets out a chuckle, groping around at his pocket to feel for his own deck.

 

 

 

Chrono leans against a row of vending machines, fiddling with his phone, when Ibuki finally exits the VIP field Mamoru has vehemently convinced him they can use. The younger man doesn’t seem to have noticed his nearing presence, and busies himself with whatever is on display on his screen.

There’s no one he seems to be in company with; none of the Trinity Dragon, none of the Onimaru-Shouji brothers. Even so, standing there alone, Chrono still grabs attention. It must help, that he’s grown a bit taller, and his jaw has further strengthened.

Not wishing to suddenly surprise him, Ibuki calls out when he almost reaches his side. “I’m sorry. Did you wait long?”

Chrono blinks in recognition and grins at him, bright and welcoming. Ibuki’s chest aches with familiar pain. “Nope. Did you win?”

“Barely.” Ibuki says, but his smile is easy. Chrono stuffs his phone back into his pocket, and they make their way down the corridor slowly. “I’d say, one win and a loss should count, right?”

Chrono snorts. “And Mamoru-san let you go like that? I would’ve expected the two of you to play another one to settle the score.”

Ibuki shrugs. “He knew we have somewhere to go.”

Humming, Chrono agrees. He walks with his body angled towards Ibuki, feet in tiny steps, as he proceeds to recount his own fights. “Sorry to disappoint, but Kazumi beat me on the last game.”

Ibuki hears Chrono’s laugh, and there is no regret in there, only a lot of joy and words of praises.

“But I won against Tsuneto!” Chrono adds quickly, as if it matters, as if there’s a point to be made. Both of them know just as much, but Ibuki lets Chrono speak, anyway, because his exhilarated voice is so much more preferable than the slow wheezing of winter air that awaits them outside the gate. “I have to admit he really mastered that last strategy of his, though.”

“Congratulations.” Ibuki says, and then lowers his voice in an attempt to sound like the announcer he’d met during a Vanguard International assembly a week prior. “Competitor Shindou has beaten Competitor Tado and proceeded to go to the next stage, only to be beaten by Competitor Onimaru.”

Chrono chortles, nudges at his arm playfully. “And Competitor Ibuki has been forced into a stalemate against Competitor Anjou. Will he survive this round? Or will Competitor Anjou emerge victorious?”

As he wheezes softly at Chrono’s impression, he pulls out his new gloves and unties the ribbons gently, lovingly. Chrono’s voice stutters into a halt as he puts them on, and Ibuki is immediately enveloped with warmth at the sight of Chrono’s pleased blush.

Chrono harrumphs, shuffling closer and tangling their arms together. “Ready to go, old man?”

Rolling his eyes, Ibuki shoots back, “If I recall correctly, you are now the same age as when this old man first gained the nickname.”

“Okay, okay. Joke cancelled!” Chrono cringes. “You guys will never let that go, really?”

“To be fair, there are only so many months until you stop being twenty.” Ibuki says, shoulder knocking onto Chrono’s. “Not many chances left.”

Chrono gives a long-suffering sigh. “Putting that aside,” he tugs on Ibuki’s hand for emphasis, “Rewind. I’m gonna redo.”

“…Okay?”

Chrono gazes into him with an all-teeth smile, and says, “Let’s go home.”

Ibuki blinks at him, fast, and feels weight resettle within his stomach. However, Chrono’s own weight on him is familiar, and his reply requires no hesitation. “Yes. Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to mention this in the first chapter, but updates will be sporadic because my current schedule isnt the most flexible thing ever.  
> on the other hand: can you point out the change in pronouns for ibuki's narration?

He’s been over at the Shindou’s apartment so many times that he now knows to flip over the carpet when Mikuru loses an earring, and to run towards the drawer in the living room when they need any form of medicines, and to slip into the washing room for extra towel before a shower without stumbling on the elevated floor like he was wont to do until a few months ago.

It helps that the Shindou are an organised group of people as well, as can be easily proven from Chrono’s room—tidy and all in line despite the quantity, put together like so that it’s easy to place and recognise a huge number of the items. With the amounts of photographs and Vanguard paraphernalia he has, Kouji is almost impressed and absolutely fascinated by Chrono’s efficiency in storing and displaying them. The living room is also proof of Mikuru’s habit to not hoard things, intentionally sparse but nonetheless full of things one will find necessary.

Today, there is a modest amount of decorations around the room, including a tiny plastic Christmas tree (it’s incredibly tiny, really, barely bigger than Ibuki’s hand, and Chrono had only bought it to complete the Christmas-y atmosphere). The orange-ish glow of the overhead lights give a warm feeling to the living room. On the dining table, the meals Chrono have both prepared earlier in the day as well as several delivery ones are spread neatly.

Mikuru greets them at the door. “You two came home earlier than I expected!”

Chrono merely shrugs, as Ibuki shyly says, “Couldn’t wait any longer to get back.”

Lips curling as she is prone to do whenever either one of them does something particularly endearing, Mikuru adds, “Of course! Welcome home.”

“We’re home.” Chrono and Ibuki chorus.

They prepare for the drinks together, and Ibuki sets up the glasses on the table. Mikuru seems to have gotten them each a slice of strawberry shortcake as well. _For desserts_ , she says, _when you’re talking about Christmas cake, it’s definitely strawberry shortcake_. And once Chrono finally declares everything ready, he takes his seat, which is also cue for both Ibuki and Mikuru to follow suit.

 “Um. Merry Christmas.” Chrono begins, the volume moderately loud. “I mean, we’ve had dinners for the three of us most of the year, anyway, but. I’m glad we can be here together on Christmas.”

“We let ourselves splurge on Christmas, Chrono.” Mikuru gestures at their surroundings. “It’s _special_.”

Chrono grins sheepishly. “About the food.” he decides to say, lifting the cover on the table. “I am experimenting with new recipes here, so tell me what you think.”

“I’m sure they’re all excellent.” Ibuki says proudly. Chrono’s meals always are. Despite not being completely qualified in the culinary field—knowing his dietary habits years past—Ibuki would still bet that Chrono’s cooking may as well have been the best set of foods he would’ve ever eaten his entire life.

When there comes no immediate response, Ibuki tilts his head up to watch as Chrono blushes at the compliment.

“Flatterer….”

Mikuru eyes them both with an expression that definitely delivers on how much she agrees with Ibuki’s earlier admission, but also on how slightly embarrassed she is that she has to be their witness.

They eat in companionable silence, only occasionally piping in to comment on the taste of each meal. Chrono seems to have worried himself silly regarding the sweetness of the mashed potato, but it blends rather nicely with the meat, Mikuru thinks. Ibuki nods in agreement, at the same time sipping slowly on the egg soup.

 “Oh!” Mikuru gasps into her strawberry shortcake. Both Ibuki and Chrono startle, turning towards her with all the intention to perform first-aid in case she somehow choked on the cake. Instead, she is dabbing tissues on her lips. “I forgot.”

She slides into her office—the room she works in, situated in between her bedroom and Chrono’s—without saying anything, and comes back out with two square planar-shaped presents. They seem to weigh on Mikuru’s forearms.

Chrono frowns at her. “Mikuru-san, you don’t have to.”

She shoves one of the presents in front of Ibuki, nodding at him encouragingly. To Chrono, she says, “I don’t have to. But I _want_ to. This is _special_ , remember?”

Ibuki isn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he nervously pulls the package closer. Drowned by the ribbons, a piece of card juts out. In red marker, written down, handwriting beautiful and Mikuru’s: _to Ibuki-kun_.

Inside is a set of navy-blue suit. Just that single set of items already catches Ibuki off-guard, but the presence of a red tie and a pair of socks only adds to the shock.

Next to him, Chrono makes a noise as he takes out a similar group of items—only fitted to his size, Ibuki presumes. It seems, however, to be the only thing Chrono can utter, as the two of them are speechless and staring at Mikuru in twin disbelief.

Mikuru has a gleeful grin on her face. “What do you think?”

Ibuki glances down at Chrono, who stares down at his own suit in contemplation. For lack of anything to say, and the sudden prickling of uncomfortable silence, Ibuki says, “Uh, I… I don’t.... This is too much.”

“Of course not.” Mikuru says, blue eyes fond. “Suits are an essential. Not to mention that Chrono is graduating college soon, so he’ll need one more than ever.”

Chrono’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re right, Mikuru-san, but I’m not in a hurry.”

Mikuru rolls her eyes, huffs. “You _are_ right, but your aunt wants to do something for you and your partner on Christmas. Don’t I get a free pass?”

“You would always get a pass, Mikuru-san.” Chrono says. Gathering the present in his arms, he adds, “Thank you.”

Ibuki swallows, feeling his mouth immediately dry up. This situation shouldn’t be as overwhelming as it feels at the moment. The older woman has always tried giving them something—small daily necessities and stories and memories. But, every single time, Ibuki would find himself at zero—clueless and awkward.

Mikuru’s eyes on him are kind. “When you find the time to put it on,” she says, gently. “Can you show me?”

It’s a cue, if any. Gratefully, Ibuki nods, whispers, “Thank you very much, Shindou-san.”

“You’re welcome.” Mikuru grins, pleased. Linking her fingers then, she raises an eyebrow. “And I see you have a new pair of gloves, Ibuki-kun.”

This time, it’s Chrono who rolls his eyes and sighs. “Mikuru-san…. I bought it with you at the department store last week.”

“I know, I just want to tease.” Mikuru says.

Chrono chuckles, “Well,” and then reaches down into his coat pocket. “As it is, I got you something as well, Mikuru-san.”

After a few seconds of blinking at the present Chrono is sliding along the table towards her, Mikuru laughs. “You told me not to give you a Christmas present, but you went ahead and gave me one, anyway?”

Shrugging, Chrono smirks, “It _is_ a special day.”

Ibuki likes seeing the curl of Mikuru’s lips as she makes to untape the present. It’s a tiny thing, the present—the packaging is only a classic envelope. But the face Mikuru makes when she sees what it contains is joyful, and Ibuki can see how much that makes Chrono blush too.

“A necklace?” Mikuru sounds incredulous, holding up the item in question. It’s plain—the chain is thin and the pendant is a simple spiral. “This is….”

“I noticed,” Chrono clears his throat, shy, “I noticed that you were looking at that when we passed by the jewelry store last week.”

Mikuru ‘oh’s. A beat of silence, and then she chuckles, “You know, I was looking at this because it reminded me of you, Chrono.” Her nephew splutters, blush intensifying. She tugs on her hair until it’s bunched to the side, and gives Chrono the necklace. “Put it on me, will you?”

Chrono obliges. The image he and Mikuru make exudes such warmth and familiarity.

“Thank you, Chrono.” Mikuru smiles.

Chrono rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. Suddenly, he proceeds to eye Ibuki with a questioning glance. Ibuki unintentionally imitates Chrono’s hand motion and pulls out a present of his own. And then, after a moment of contemplation, he takes out another envelope.

Mikuru can’t stop laughing. “You got me something as well, Ibuki-kun? No one listened to the ‘no Christmas gift’ rule, did we?”

“I’ll tell you something better.” Chrono says, smug. “Kouji and I bought our gifts together.”

Mikuru raises an eyebrow, amused, and moves on to unwrap the present. Inside is a pair of winged earrings. They’re silver in colour, almost white. Mikuru blinks.

“You were looking at that, too.” Chrono says. He shuffles closer to Ibuki as he does so, as a show of unity.

Mikuru sounds wistful. “You do notice everything, don’t you….”

She proceeds to put out her hands then, and Chrono and Ibuki are quick to grip one of each. Together, they grip at each other’s hands tightly, resolutely. Mikuru whispers, in a voice reminiscent of sleepless nights and fingers on a warm mug of hot chocolate, “Thank you.”

Chrono and Ibuki look at one another, both too embarrassed to say anything. After a while, Mikuru looks up and huffs, a newfound smile in place.

“So.” she says, without a beat. “What did you get Chrono, Ibuki-kun?”

“Ah,” Ibuki fumbles with the envelope, and shyly hands it out for Chrono to touch. “I hope you like it.”

Chrono gives him a look—familiar enough at this point—and Ibuki immediately knows Chrono is already finding it interesting.

“Is that a Vanguard card?” Mikuru asks, bewildered. “I thought the two of you agreed on presents other than Vanguard cards?”

“We didn’t make a deal of it, per se.” Chrono says, gently opening the envelope. “It was just because Kouji liked to give me cards whenever he wanted, anyway.”

Ibuki tries not to look too flustered. “The opportunity just presented itself.”

“A lot of timely opportunities.”

Shrugging, Ibuki hunches, elbows on thighs, as Chrono fishes the content of the envelope.

“Oh. It’s not a card?” Chrono says, moments before he stills, pulling out a pair of tickets. Ibuki catches the exact second Chrono’s confusion turns into disbelief and then into frozen shock.

Ibuki unconsciously grins, fingers grasping at the hem of his shirt. He pushes himself closer. “So?”

Chrono’s head turns towards him so fast that Ibuki gives a start. “You didn’t!”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“What, what? What is that?” Mikuru lurches forward, carried along by Chrono’s sudden excitement.

“Kouji just,” Chrono tries to breathe, surging into Ibuki’s space, “he gave me tickets for VI.”

Mikuru gasps. “Vanguard International? The competition? For real?”

“Yes.” Chrono is half-laughing now, pressing his head onto the point between Ibuki’s neck and shoulder. “And—this looks like a good seat. So yes.”

“I see you like it?” Ibuki doesn’t mean for that to sound like a question. Silently, Chrono’s vibrating giggle on his collarbone feels like a _yes, of course_.

“How did you get this?” Chrono asks. His weight is tired on Ibuki—overwhelmed, maybe. After all, Chrono has let go of the chance to be inside the venue when he lost his competitive spot during the qualification tournament.

“If you would believe it—fair and square from the lottery.” Ibuki can’t stop the smile from blooming on his face. It registers to him, then, that it has indeed been a victory. One that now gives him a happy, exuberant Chrono.

“No way! Really?” Chrono looks up. “Even Kamui-san’s entries didn’t make it, you know?”

Ibuki is well aware. Both Kamui and Miwa have stared at him in envy back then, too. “I was surprised as well.”

Chrono’s lips curl, his entire being oozing with joy. “This is a wonderful present, Kouji. Thank you.” And then—not as an afterthought, but as a necessary addition, a habit—he tilts his head upwards and whispers in Ibuki’s ear, “I love you.”

Ibuki shudders, and leans in closer to press his head against Chrono’s.

They stay like that for a while—and one of Chrono’s hands has discreetly lodged itself on his waist, too, so it’s not like Ibuki will want to move away anytime soon. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Mikuru try to give them privacy by turning on her side and eating shortcake.

Chrono hums. “Wouldn’t you be volunteering, though? Why two tickets?”

“Ah—I,” Ibuki says, “I’ve been handling my tasks with a couple of assistants. They said they’d allow me to scamper off once I finish the briefing.” At Chrono’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “By assistants, I meant to say Miwa and Kamui.”

If anything, Chrono’s eyebrow just shoots up even higher. “So _that’s_ why Kamui-san hasn’t been around lately.”

“Tatsunagi-san gave me this leeway.” Ibuki clarifies. Being able to bring extra helping hands is a pretty generous leeway from the man, and Ibuki isn’t about to miss taking advantage of it. Miwa and Kamui were heartbroken about not getting their tickets, but immediately perked up and jumped at his offer.

And, judging by Chrono’s grin, it seems to have worked out for the better.

“Great.” Chrono says, shifting so that he is no longer in Ibuki’s space. Ibuki tamps down the creeping feeling of loneliness. “Watching the biggest international Vanguard competition in the biggest venue in Tokyo with the person I love. Perfect.”

Flushing, Ibuki coughs into his fist. To have Chrono confirm the plan out loud is grounding, making it solid. Chrono stuffs the tickets back into the envelope, the motion careful and precious.

Mikuru looks fondly exasperated. “Well, I can’t possibly one-up that present.”

“Christmas’ highlight.” Chrono says, with the same fondness. He picks up his coat, slipping the envelope into a pocket for safe-keeping. As he gropes around the piece of clothing, his hand seems to have found the roll of calendar Anjou had given away earlier in the day. Ibuki momentarily remembers one stuffed in his own coat pocket.

“Mikuru-san, do you want this?” Chrono asks, the calendar in hand. “I know you said you wanted to buy one for next year.”

“I forgot to get one last week.” Mikuru nods, taking the item off Chrono’s hold. “Are you sure you don’t need it?”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

Mikuru shrugs, accepting. “All right, then. Now, does any of you want some tea to wash down all that food?”

 

 

 

Having brushed his teeth, Ibuki exits the bathroom only to stumble into Mikuru, who slides to avoid him just in time. She bids him good night, pats him on the shoulder, and lets him walk off towards Chrono’s room. He passes by Mikuru’s office and sees her laptop on and running in the corner of his eye, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

Inside the room, Chrono is hunched on his bed, knees on chest. He looks up immediately from his phone when Kouji opens the door, and tilts his head. Kouji recognises the gesture well enough to understand that Chrono is asking him to turn off the lights.

As soon as Kouji finishes doing just that, Chrono shuffles closer to the wall and shrugs at the space beside him. Kouji eyes the futon laid on the floor and—deciding it’s most likely redundant, anyway—only takes the blanket folded on top of it.

Chrono is quick to spoon him when they get in position, mouth at the back of Kouji’s earlobe.

“Is this okay? Tonight?” Chrono asks, softly.

Kouji shivers at the movement of his lips, humming in response. He then feels Chrono’s lips curl into a smile, and Chrono drapes an arm over Kouji’s torso, loose but protective. It’s a habit Chrono has long since adopted during the many times they’ve laid together, for it lets Kouji breathe as much as it is cocooning him. In return, Chrono finds solace in pressing his head on Kouji’s back and sometimes listening to his heartbeats.

“Kouji.”

“Yes?”

Chrono makes a little sound at the back of his throat before clearing it, and says, “So, Shion….”

Kouji raises an eyebrow. “Kiba?” It’s not so often that Chrono would bring up any of their friends’ names in bed.

Chuckling, Chrono says, “Yeah, you know. That blond guy. Some rich CEO. Hosted that one gigantic dinner cruise last Halloween.”

Kouji rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the amusement from leaking onto his reply, “Of course, Chrono. Your dear friend.”

“My dear friend.” Chrono sighs. “So anyway, a few weeks ago he offered to get me a couple of VIP tickets to Vanguard International. He said he can pull some strings because, as I’m sure you know, he has—” Chrono does an air-quote with the arm he’s thrown in front of Ibuki. “— _connections_.”

Kouji nods. It’s public knowledge, at this point, if Kiba’s large variety of entourage is any indication. One day he would have a beautiful member of a foreign congress as his plus one, and the next day he would have a distinguished young nobleman from some European country on his arm.

“I just want you to know that—I did consider taking his offer.” Chrono says. He sounds embarrassed, with a tint of guilt. “I wanted to come to the venue and surprise you while you’re volunteering.”

Something prickles at Kouji’s chest. He hums in acknowledgement, instead, letting Chrono continue.

“Turned him down in the end, though.” Chrono gives a low laugh. “Not too good an idea to owe Shion a favour, no matter what he says. Didn’t want to bother you at work as well. And it wouldn’t be as fun as watching the recorded TV segment at home together with you afterwards.”

“You wouldn’t be a bother.” Kouji mumbles.

Chrono smiles against his nape. “Still.” He heaves a breath. “But now, being able to watch the VI games in the actual venue, sitting next to you—that’s even better. The best.”

Kouji feels the younger man settle closer onto him, the arm dangling over his torso rubbing circle at Kouji’s elbow.

“Thank you, Kouji.” The words vibrate hotly on Kouji’s skin. “Not only for the tickets. That’s—well, it’s a big thing. An important thing. But beyond that—thank you for being with me this year, too.”

Giving tickets to an event held the next year must have felt like a promise to stay together until then. In realisation to this, Kouji’s breath hitches. The thought of leaving Chrono has never stayed long in his mind—it comes and goes, out of fear and worry and feeling of inadequacy. But Chrono has always held his hands through it, linking their fingers together, and it’s always felt like the one most absolute truth Kouji knows.

“Thank you for still wanting to be with me next year, too.” Chrono says. The hand on Kouji’s elbow grasps a little tighter.

Kouji exhales, reaching sideways to press his face on Chrono’s forearm. “It should come without saying,” he says, letting himself fall deeper into the embrace, “that I love being with you.”

Chrono stutters into a laugh, and pushes himself up to face Kouji down. “Can I kiss you?”

Kouji nods, spreading his arms out around Chrono’s torso while he’s at it. “Please.”

Chrono laughs into it, and combs through Kouji’s hair with his fingers, pulling him closer. The kiss is also a promise.


End file.
